


Shattered Faith

by ValmureEld



Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Jerry is a monster, Murder, Other, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 12:57:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18811360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValmureEld/pseuds/ValmureEld
Summary: Four hundred years of survival began in the pastures of Ireland, where a very different face of the Vegas beast used to hunt.





	Shattered Faith

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueNeutrino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueNeutrino/gifts).



> So......turns out Jerry's species has a heartbeat to go with that sadistic nature so my friend and I got to talking about how he might use that.
> 
> Also, slight warning for Jerry acting like a vampire and killing many people and very mildly injuring a lamb.

Everyone is dead.

Everyone is dead and Niall is trembling, but he cannot find it in himself to run away, because the beast is still here.

He clutches his tiny iron cross until it burrows into his palm, his breathing stiff, his very spirit trembling. The moonlight turns red into black and black into silver, casting everything in a cool glow that doesn’t manage to mask the smell of carnage.

He’s standing in his Prior’s blood, and the beast is slowly licking drops of it off of his hand.

The creature looks like a man: pale skinned, dark hair and darker eyes, a poor man’s tunic that had once been white tucked into worn, rough trousers and leather boots that make no sound.

At the moment, his back is to Niall, standing a dozen paces away in the middle of the monastery’s pasture. Most of the animals have fled in instinctive terror, and Niall cannot understand why his own instinct has deserted him until he hears a frightened bleating. His head turns a fraction after the beast’s, and his body jerks in an aborted desire to help as the monster moves.

A lamb is caught by the wool in the north thicket they used as a fence, and even in the dark he can see the terror rolling in the whites of her eyes.

The beast is slow, methodical, every movement precice and relaxed. He breaks away brambles and pulls the lamb from the thicket, wrapping her flailing legs up in one arm and tucking her, almost tenderly, against his chest. As his free hand closes around her neck, Niall finally cannot stand it anymore.

“No!” he screams, thrusting his bloodied fist out with the pitiful cross still clutched inside. The beast freezes, turns slowly around to face him fully. His eyes are voids, swallowing even the moonlight.

“No don’t kill her, not her too, not her too--”He cannot seem to say anything else, and all the sudden he’s sobbing. “Not her, don’t kill her too.”

The beast’s grip on the lamb gentles, smoothing down her white neck to leave a smear of blood across it. He cocks his head, eyes narrowing as he regards Niall.

Niall trembles, but still does not run. The beast seems to like this, and a corner of his mouth twitches up, revealing the white point of a fang.

“What is your name?”

Niall opens his fist, the iron cross stuck to his hand with sweat and blood, and the beast snorts, tossing his head with a perverse amusement.

“A little late for that, isn’t it? I know _his_ name, what’s _your_ name.”

The monk’s brow twists, his heart quivering at the utter indifference paid to his cross. He knows his God is greater than this--so it must be him that’s broken. He wonders for the first time where he will end up when this beast kills him, because if he truly had faith he wouldn’t be frozen and helpless in the middle of an open field.

“Monk,” the beast presses, his hand flexing on the lamb. She gives a startled kick, and he holds her fast. “Your name.”

“N-Niall.”

“Niall,” he repeats, tilting his head back like he’s tasting it. “Champion, or warrior.” He raises an eyebrow. “Were you named very well, or very, very poorly I wonder.” He clicks his tongue against those teeth. “Come closer.”

He shouldn’t obey. He does.

“A little closer.”

A step, another, and then three more and he’s near enough to see the dark veins running from beneath the beast’s open collar up into his throat. Niall swallows dryly, staring up at the black eyes and the tips of fangs revealed by an amused quirk of the lips. This close, he can hear the beast draw breath, see the collarbones shift beneath flesh as he strokes his bloody hand through the lamb’s wool.

He shudders, and the beast blinks slowly, regarding him.

“Speak your mind, little monk.”

“You-you are a demon,” he manages, meeting those eyes and feeling his faithless cross dig harder into his hand. The beast’s attention flicks down to where a drop of blood is getting ready to fall from Niall’s thumb, but he doesn’t attack.

“Am I? What makes you say that? I haven’t flinched from your cross yet, have I?”

“That’s--”

“I mean, what makes him partial to you and not to me?” he asks, stroking the lamb’s back once more. “Aren’t we all, God’s creatures?”

Even with the proof that his faith is not enough, the beast’s suggestion fills Niall with hate, and for a split second his fear evaporates.

“I carry the breath of life, I bear the image of his glory! As did my brothers, my prior!” he points back at the monastery. “You stole their lives, and you wear this form as a mask. A mockery of God’s beauty!”

The beast wrinkles his nose, his brow creasing. “That’s...an interesting perspective. Who told you that, I wonder? Your Bible?”

Niall bristles, flushing with embarrassment and shame. He’s skipped so much required study, and now he thinks this must be one of the consequences. “I know a demon,” he insists, though with less conviction. “What else could you be?”

“I don’t know, but seeing as how I’ve had breath in this body about a hundred years longer than you’ve even existed, I have to wonder who the true thief is. And if you’re the image of God--” he buries his fingers into the lamb’s back, making her jerk as long nails nick her skin. Fangs press into his lip as they quirk into a cold smile. “Then what God breathed into me?”

The lamb’s own blood wells up under the beast’s claws and angry, hot tears fill Niall’s eyes. He reaches out, far past expecting to survive, and seizes the beast’s wrist, trying to pull against strength like iron to stop him hurting the lamb further.

Niall is expecting clammy flesh, or perhaps rotting skin, and had braced himself for horrors.

To his great shock, the beast’s skin is warmer than his own.

His mouth gapes like a fish and the beast grins, all malice in his eyes and delight between his teeth. “Oh, they told you I was dead, didn’t they? That I was some undead fiend to be put down. Your Prior, your Abbot. I am burdened to be the bearer of this news but,” he twists his wrist, breaking Niall’s grip in one fluid motion and capturing his hand. “Even holy men lie.”

Before Niall can guess what the beast intends, he is jerked forward and his hand is trapped beneath the beast’s palm.

“You--your heart--” Niall chokes on his words, his mouth dry as he stares at the beast’s breast. There’s no mistaking it: beneath Niall’s bloody palm, the beast has a bounding, powerful heartbeat. It demands attention and defies the fluttering in Niall’s own chest. The beast is studying him intently, savoring this.

“What about my heart? Didn’t expect me to have one?”

Niall swallows, his mouth like straw. “I--”

“I know, it’s difficult, feeling your faith crumble beneath you. You were told I’m dead, that putting me back where I belong takes only that mustard seed of faith and maybe some fire. As far as a peaceful monk is concerned, killing me isn’t killing at all.”

The beast’s fingers slip from Niall’s hand, claws grazing the tendons. Niall doesn’t move, the beast’s heartbeat echoing along his bones.

“Not so easy to imagine taking my life now, is it? Little monk. Hard to be righteous when you can feel the life still…” he rolls his head the other way, black eyes narrowing. “Pumping.”

“Please…” Naill’s words crumble between his lips like ash, his fingers slipping away from the beast’s chest. He thinks this is the first time he’s ever truly prayed with conviction to anyone.

The beast regards him for a moment longer, nodding once. “Ask it.”

His lips tremble, his expression crumples. “Let the lamb free.”

The beast blinks once. “And you?”

Niall gives a single shake of the head, a tear striking hot down his cheek.

“Very well.”

The beast’s voice is soft, his expression softer. “Kneel.”

Niall does as he’s told, and for the first time that night, he isn’t trembling. He’s numb. Blood and morning dew soak through his robes to his knees, and he sits back on his heels, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. The beast settles on one knee before him, bending to settle the lamb in Niall’s arms. Niall accepts her, hugging her tightly and pressing a kiss to her warm head.

“Now,” the beast says softly. “Don’t hold her too tightly.”

He shuts his eyes, turning his head away as the beast’s claws graze his jaw.

The pain is momentary, and as the coolness of blood loss creeps over him, Niall gentles his grip on the lamb and lets her slip away.

**Author's Note:**

> If you look at Jerry's heart during the ending battle right before Charley stakes him, it's definitely alive and beating. Jerry also has prominent veins become visible when he's mid-transformation, and when he works himself up to fangs and black eyes to bite the girl he has in his house, it appears to be a physical effort. This led me to conclude that he has a working metabolism that would produce heat and a heart that beats to flood his system with the chemicals and energies needed for his strength and transformation powers. 
> 
> We also discussed how this vampire hunts by luring you in, and let's face it, you're gonna get closer to cuddle someone warm than someone who feels like a corpse.


End file.
